


Silence

by GuardianQwerty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comforting, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Sherlock, John POV, Multi PoVs, POV, PTSD, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, after Serbia, sherlock POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:31:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuardianQwerty/pseuds/GuardianQwerty
Summary: Sherlock's mind was deep with torment, it had been hard since Serbia, but will he ever escape the feeling of fear and death? Will he ever escape his nightmare?





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This does have PTSD flashbacks. It isn't full on but you have been warned.

It was silent, deadly silent; it was cold, deadly cold; and it was dire, so damn dire. The pain inflicted in that second was overwhelming. Feeling a cold hand on his neck, even though there was no one near him. A cold hand, silence and dire circumstances. He was frozen, in fear, if he didn’t move maybe nothing would happen, if he didn’t shake or feel, maybe they would forget he was there. But the world doesn’t work that way, and soon enough the cold hand had pushed his head fully into a barrel of freezing water. Gasping for air, swallowing and inhaling struggling against the hand. Emerged for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes. Then release and he was screaming, yelling his vocal cords raw. The pain, the feeling of inadequacy, the feeling of wanting to die was way too strong.

* * *

 

John had been pacing around the kitchen; it was late on a Tuesday evening, nearly 11pm. He had just finished cleaning up after an explosive fail of an experiment which ended with fingers in a blender and on the walls. Sherlock had said he was “testing the time it would take to blend a body”. John hadn’t let him continue after he forgot to put the lid on the blender of human fingers. The smell of flesh and decomposing bodies had always been a strong part of 221Bs living area, but this took it to a brand new level, even if it was for a case.

John had just washed the final piece of blood from the splashback when he heard a bang. First instinct was gunshot, but it was too blunt, too much of like someone had ran into a piece of furniture. He ignored it; Sherlock probably just rammed his foot into his dresser or something. Sitting down in his chair with a cup a cup of tea and a book John ignored it all, for about three minutes. A shout caught him off guard, and then a blood curdling scream that sounded far too similar to Sherlock’s tone put him into action mode. He got up at once. Something was wrong, to be truthful everything had been wrong since Sherlock had come back. The only reason he was living at 221B was because Mary was away at some nurse conference, and she had told him to go back and watch out for his friend. God she was persuasive.  

John knocked on the door of Sherlock’s room. Without waiting for a reply he walked in, silently. What he saw when he came in was a sight. The bed sheets were wrapped tightly around a shivering figure in the corner, warped and twisted in all sorts of ways, some tightly wound around his flatmates neck. The man was only wearing a pair of boxers. His muscles were tensed, his body glistening with sweat and limbs were clung tightly into a ball in the corner of the room. John announced his appearance.  
“Sherlock, it’s me John, I’m here mate. John is here. I’m here.” John knew from his own experience the worst thing to do was come in unannounced, it would be worst in the long run. The body beneath him was shaking beyond belief. It was the worse he had seen him. Ever since he came back from Serbia, Sherlock was different, in so many ways.

* * *

 

He was slowly coming back, slowly. He could hear a voice, a strong but calm voice amongst the silence.  
“Sherlock….. I’m here…. John…. I’m here.” Parts of speech were oozing in. But he had no control. The hand was still there, cold air pushing him towards the barrel. Demanding a response, demanding answers. Sherlock tried to open his eyes, tried to tell himself it wasn’t real, but he had no control. He was there. In a dark long cell, hands chained to opposite walls holding him in his position above the barrel. A man behind him, towering into him and talking at high speed Croatian. There was no escape, no getting out. He would be stuck there forever. He will never see John again; and Moriarty will somehow rise again, through the ashes or in some long term game that will destroy all of the work he had done over the last two years.

Suddenly, the voice was back and clearer this time, calming him.  
“Sherlock, listen to me. This isn’t real, you…” It trailed out again. It is real isn’t it?  
“…home, you’re in London at 221B Baker Street. You are safe.” Each word was different, not demanding, more grounding. Understanding. Completely aware of what was happening. But what was happening?  
“Come back Sherlock, come back, I’m going to touch you okay, don’t be scared.” Sherlock tensed, no one could touch him, it would only be cold. Completely numbing, it was freezing and he didn’t know how to cope.

But then it wasn’t, a hand touched his shoulder. Warmth began to spread, a complete trusting sheet started gaining momentum and covering his body in a shield of heat. It wasn’t cold anymore; it was a lovely Luke-warm, a grounding sensation.  
“Sherlock, you are with me, I’m with you.” The voice continued as the heat spread.  
“This isn’t real. You are safe.” He felt relaxed, and the struggle to open his eyes wasn’t there anymore. The anxiety was decreasing and he could finally feel everything that wasn’t cold. He could feel the thin layer of sweat that sheeted his body. He could feel the intense shaking that his body was slowly calming from. But most of all he could feel the warm embrace from his friend.

* * *

 

John sat next to his friend against the wall hugging him sideways and warming his body. He could feel the slow decrease in shake; he could feel the anxiety decreasing. He had been here, technically still was. He knew that when his anxiety reared its ugly head all he wanted to do was bury his head into Mary’s chest, have someone comforting the shaking and torment away. Have someone to share the pain with. And that’s all Sherlock needed. He needed to talk to someone, but John knew he would never do that, so this would have to suffice. John looked down, the eyes of his flatmate were open, still fearful, but he knew that the hug was helping. He knew Sherlock was calming. He started unravelling the sheet from his friend’s neck. Slowly and gentling releasing him from his bonds, and giving him the freedom to move and get away if he wished. But Sherlock didn’t move. He stayed, snuggled close to John, like a child who had just woken from a terrifying nightmare.  
“Thank you John.” That was all the man said. John hadn’t expected anything, but this meant the world. He was back, or at least nearly back to 221B Baker Street, not in the middle of Serbia. He was finding his way back.  
“Thank you John.”

**Author's Note:**

> First Sherlock fanfiction, let me know what you thought. 
> 
> Constructive criticism and any other comments are accepted. 
> 
> If you enjoyed please leave Kudos and thanks for reading!


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